


thrown and overflown with bliss

by cumaeansibyl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale goes all celestial around the edges, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley shouldn't be into it but he definitely is, Don't Try This At Home, Emotional Sex, Idiots in Love, M/M, Praise Kink, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Under-negotiated Kink, to say the least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumaeansibyl/pseuds/cumaeansibyl
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley don'twantto be overcome by emotions during sex. It's just what happens sometimes when you're two immortal supernatural beings whonever talk about your damn feelings.It gets... intense.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 70
Kudos: 398





	thrown and overflown with bliss

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: immortal supernatural beings can get away with not negotiating scenes, but humans can't. Always make sure everybody's on the same page for _all_ sexual activity, but especially the kinky kind.

They never set out to have emotionally revelatory sex, was the thing. Neither had ever sat down and decided “today would be a good time to address some of the deep-seated psychological trauma from my family of origin, which I can best accomplish through one or more awkwardly cathartic sex acts.” But neither had ever sat down and decided to address their respective traumas in any other way, not now or at any time in the history of the world, so it was only to be expected that everything they’d stuffed down for so long would sometimes come out sideways.

The first time had been the exception, actually, following on the first time either had ever put truthful words to their feelings. They’d made love in astonished joy, and it came with its own set of revelations (Crowley’s shyness, Aziraphale’s vigor) but they’d already held each other close and whispered the terrible truth _I love you, always did, don’t think I can stop_. Touching each other afterward was only (ha, “only”) the fulfillment of what they’d already learned.

After that, though, things got more complicated. On any given day there was a decent chance of some long-repressed pain or fear getting knocked loose mid-coitus and spilling all over the bedroom -- almost guaranteed if they were trying something new, and in those early days everything was new. The first time Aziraphale had sucked his cock, Crowley had looked down at the angel kneeling at his feet and burst into confused, angry tears about the unfitness of the posture (though if anyone was in charge at that moment, it wasn’t him). Aziraphale had been, if not unfazed, at least somewhat self-possessed the first time Crowley fucked him; afterward, the feeling of Crowley’s lips scattering gentle kisses on the fine white hair across his shoulderblades, where it shaded into the down of his unseen wings, made him curl into himself and wail in grief for the lost virtues of Heaven. (“They never were what they could have been,” he explained afterward, warming his hands on his mug of cocoa, “so I can’t have lost what wasn’t there to begin with, but somehow that’s worse -- oh, I’m not making any sense.” Crowley nodded and wisely refrained from pointing out that Aziraphale rarely made sense to him where Heaven was concerned.) They spent about as much time crying in bed as anything else, and then out of bed they went on ignoring all the psychic landmines waiting to be set off because that still seemed like a good plan.

When Crowley, pressing Aziraphale into the bedroom wall about three weeks into their new enterprise, had the bright idea to lean on him a little harder and snarl something appropriately threatening (if a little corny) about his fair celestial captive, perhaps the angel’s trembling lip and overbright eyes should have warned him that it was time to take a breath and consider just what such a scenario might uncover. Perhaps he should have paid less attention to the eager arch of Aziraphale’s body into his and more to the trembling of his pinned hands. Almost certainly, the shuddering tightness in his own chest should have told him that he wasn’t anywhere near ready to play the conquering demon without kicking up some wretched fantasies of his own from the first days, when he still sought comfort in bitter dreams of vengeance against Heaven.

But then Aziraphale also would have done well to refrain from giving blanket consent to a game he’d never played but knew full well ought to have actual rules, and yet he’d gasped theatrically and called Crowley a wicked beast instead, which hardly counted as negotiation.

“Yessss, I’m a wicked beasssst,” Crowley hissed, “and I’m going to do such wicked thingsss to you, my poor innocent little angel.” He nibbled on the soft flesh just above Aziraphale’s collarbone, letting his teeth go sharp against the skin, and it was more than a bit melodramatic but damn if that in itself didn’t make all his demonic bits stand up and shout. He pressed his knee between Aziraphale’s legs and the angel, pretending to struggle, rubbed hot and urgent against his thigh.

“You foul fiend -- ahh -- how _could_ you?” Aziraphale writhed in the demon’s grip, and his breath came in quick whimpering gasps. “I’m helpless to resist your evil wiles -- please, couldn’t you just let me go?”

Crowley pulled back to grin at him. “Oh, angel, don’t expect me to believe you want _mercy_. That’s not what your body’s telling me.” He stopped the angel’s protest with his mouth, his tongue flickering deep, chasing the taste of fear and desire mingled.

Aziraphale gave a muffled sob, even as he clutched at Crowley’s back and pulled himself closer, tense and trembling with need. “Please, I’ll never tell anyone,” he managed when Crowley let up for a moment. “I’ll do anything else you want, just not this, please --”

“But what else could I want? An angel under my power, what demon hasn’t dreamed of that?” Crowley slipped one hand between Aziraphale’s legs and pressed his fingers hard, feeling the open heat even through the angel’s sturdy trousers. Aziraphale thrust his hips forward, chasing that touch with a stifled moan. “You’re so _pure_ ,” Crowley snarled, and the genuine sharpness in his voice shook him a little -- _now is not the time for your feelings about the heavenly host, idiot!_ “So virtuous… but I can see what you _really_ are, angel.” His mouth watered, and he sought out the sensitive spot on Aziraphale’s neck where it met his shoulder, scraping his teeth against it and then biting down.

White light crashed into the room and Aziraphale cried out in the kind of many-tongued angelic clarion Crowley hadn’t heard since before Time and Space had started. Crowley found himself seized by the throat and lifted bodily, his feet dangling a full two inches above the floor. He tried to protest, seized by a sudden fear that he’d triggered some sort of celestial anti-interrogation protocol designed to discorporate diabolical captors, but the physical and metaphysical impact of Aziraphale’s wings crashing into reality knocked the wind out of him and he could only gawp and cough and stare in dismay at the angel, lit up like a solar flare.

“Grk?” he asked.

“ _I’ll show you what I really am,_ ” said the Principality of the Eastern Gate. His eyes glowed the silver-white of burning cobalt and every feather of his wings was edged in light. Under the rather disorienting Wall of Sound bit still affecting Aziraphale’s voice, Crowley could hear a growl most uncharacteristic of fired-up celestial warriors, and the wave of angelic lust that washed over him knocked any remaining sense out of Crowley’s head.

“... steady on,” Crowley wheezed, patting at the hand at his throat, which wasn’t causing him any physical distress but was doing some very strange things to his thought processes. “Er. Don’t suppose you could let me down just a titch -- yes, quite right, you’re all full up on heaven...liness.” Aziraphale released his neck and he gasped, a bit dramatically. “Very impressive. Well done you.”

The angel extended one finger, touching Crowley just at the hollow of the throat. The touch was sharp and searing -- for all the world like the point of a flaming sword. “ _Oh, I think you can do better than that,_ ” he said, backing Crowley toward the bed. The light of his wings was a bright shifting pressure against the demon’s skin, hot and cold by turns, and his blazing eyes seemed to cast the rest of the room in shadow. 

Crowley should have hated it. He should have run screaming for shelter, or perhaps to the bakery on the next block, to comfort the angel with apple tarts when he returned to himself, red-faced and apologetic. If he _had_ to do something stupid (which the casual observer could be forgiven for thinking might be the case) he should have gone to his knees, accepting the rug burn as a natural consequence of supernatural beings playing silly buggers with power dynamics, and babbled something about Aziraphale’s celestial ineffables until everyone calmed down.

Instead, there was a dizzying tension in his chest, and a delicious tremor all across his bare skin that quivered just on the right side of pain, and because he never settled for a bad decision when he could make the worst one instead, Crowley tipped his chin back and laughed in the angel’s face. “Think you can make me sing your praises, eh? You’re dreaming.”

Aziraphale’s wings flashed upward and buffeted the air, and Crowley, whose body mass was largely theoretical, staggered backward onto the bed. His head was spinning with the angel’s desire -- pure corporeal lust all wound up with some long-unaddressed need he couldn’t quite pick out, because his trousers were so uncomfortably tight he kept getting distracted by his cramped erection before he could finish the thought. Sharp blades of light cascaded over the bed, burning where they slid across his skin, as Aziraphale floated through the air toward him.

Their eyes met, and Crowley couldn’t have spoken if he tried, not even to beg.

Aziraphale plunged down and transfixed Crowley with a kiss, his mouth soft and scalding with divinity. His skin was almost cool after the burning light of his wings, a sweet heavy weight everywhere -- everywhere? never mind, clothes were for humans -- as he covered Crowley’s body, pressed him into the mattress. His tongue eased Crowley’s mouth open, stroking inside. Crowley groaned and clutched at Aziraphale’s back.

“ _No,_ ” Aziraphale said, and the sound alone was enough to freeze Crowley solid. He felt his hands yanked upward, pinned to the pillow above his head. When he tried to pull free, he realized that Aziraphale’s hands were still cupping his face; his own hands were bound by ethereal forces, and there wasn’t even the slightest bit of give. 

“Neat trick. You don’t think that’ll intimidate me, do you?” said Crowley, trying not to sound intimidated. “I’ve gotten out of worse.”

“ _Indeed,_ ” said Aziraphale, pressing his fingers gently into Crowley’s cheekbones to hold his head still. He kissed Crowley again, and again, exploring with a light touch that left the inside of Crowley’s mouth feeling mildly scorched. Crowley tried to suck on the angel’s tongue, but Aziraphale kept slipping away, teasing, each touch burning and soothing at once.

Somewhere underneath the angel’s devotion to this, single-minded as it was, Crowley could still feel that uncomprehended need urging him on. There was something else Aziraphale wanted, so badly that he’d lost track of his corporeal boundaries in a way he’d never done before, letting the sacred fire of his true being slip through the seams.

 _What I really am_. What was he? An angel, obviously -- shit, but it _wasn’t_ obvious, he’d spent most of his existence hearing he was a terrible excuse for one. Even Crowley had told him he wasn’t like the others; it was a compliment, of course, and Aziraphale had known that, but it still meant _you don’t belong with the rest_. And that all came _before_ he’d defied his natural allegiance -- with excellent reason and no obvious regrets, but they certainly hadn’t talked about what that might be doing to Aziraphale’s self-image. Or what that might make him want.

All that being said, Crowley was still aghast at (and not a little impressed by) the temerity of asking a fallen angel to praise one who, if not exactly in good standing, still hadn’t gotten the Great Pink Slip. It made the demon in him spit curses and try to bite -- mostly in the fun sexy way, true, but just a little bit in the “your sort don’t get to ask favors after giving me the boot” way as well.

“Angel,” Crowley said, breaking the kiss. “Be reasonable, now, you can’t expect a demon to commend your piety. Not exactly my area, is it?” He made some sort of sound, between a whimper and a shout, as Aziraphale bent to suck an agonizing mark into his neck. “Even if I wanted to, which I ah -- _ah shit_ \-- I _don’t_ , I wouldn’t even know what to say!”

“ _I think you had better figure it out_.” Aziraphale leaned back, up, and rubbed himself against Crowley’s cock, his soft hair and ruffled inner labia stroking up and down the underside and leaving just a trace of stinging wetness. The light touch clearly wasn’t doing much for him, but he was just as clearly prepared to go on tormenting Crowley, regardless of his own physical need, until he got the satisfaction he was really after. “ _As much as I know you’re enjoying this._ ” 

Satan, there was that little smile, that rotten bastard smile, and Crowley gave up even the pretense of fighting. “Angel, please,” he gasped, trying to press closer and pull away at the same time, which ended in a desperate and ineffectual squirm. “I can’t stand it, please, you’re killing me --”

“ _You’ll live._ " Aziraphale slid up and stopped, pressing the head of Crowley’s cock between his inner lips, just at the base of his clit. “ _And you’ll give me what I want._ ” Crowley could feel both the soft mortal warmth and the divine burn at once, and he couldn’t breathe for sheer longing, and somewhere along the line his eyes had started to water (not _crying_ , demons didn’t _cry_ , he certainly hadn’t been crying during sex for the past three weeks). He bucked his hips up once, twice, and then the same ineluctable force pinning his hands to the mattress immobilized his hips too and he could only twitch a little.

“Please… o holy one,” Crowley breathed, his wide eyes supplicating, every muscle rigid under the agitating mix of pleasure and torture Aziraphale’s undeniable holiness (and bastardry) was inflicting on his body. “Please, I’ll give you anything, only have mercy on me. Mercy…”

“ _Yes,_ ” Aziraphale crooned, finally, finally sinking down. Crowley tried, and failed, not to whine. He could feel every touch of the angel’s fine intricate folds sliding light and plush around his shaft, the tight clutching heat just beyond, then the infinitely clinging softness deep within, with a relentless immediacy he’d never experienced. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening but he could feel it in every atom. His cock pulsed in that inhuman, electric heat, and his whole body thrilled on the brink of overstimulation. And then Aziraphale began to move.

Crowley tried to say the angel’s name, but for a moment his mouth had stopped working and the first try came out as _zrfl_. Aziraphale, who’d understood anyway, smiled and rocked against him, slowly, keeping him deep inside. If he dared to look at what was happening to him right now he would surely discorporate on the spot, he had to keep his face turned away -- and then he looked, because of course he did, and almost came at the sight of Aziraphale’s pussy opened up around his cock, soft and glistening.

“Aziraphale,” he managed this time. If the angel wanted coherent praise, he was surely out of luck at this point, but Crowley was determined to come up with something. “You’re ssssso good. Divine. Ssssacred.” Aziraphale wriggled with pleasure and started moving his hips in long, steady strokes, tight and hot and deliciously torturous. “Ahgh! Oh g- bless it, angel, I can feel it, your -- guh -- your _righteousnessss_ \--”

“ _Oh!_ ” Aziraphale sighed, losing his rhythm for just a moment before picking it up, faster now. His wings beat lightly at the air and he dug his fingers into his own thighs, creating luscious creases in the flesh and making Crowley’s teeth ache to bite.

“Yessss, righteous, replete -- oh, gah -- with celessstial virtues --” Crowley babbled. He couldn’t last at this rate, not when he could feel that perfect slick grip sliding up and down his prick. Not with Grace penetrating his body like light shining through glass. He was still pinned down and he couldn’t even arch his back, could do nothing but tense his thighs and belly against the rising pressure that seemed ready to split him open.

“ _That’s right._ ” Aziraphale smiled beatifically down at him. “ _Let me hear it._ ” 

The pleasure crested, and Crowley felt Aziraphale holding him there at the zenith, that ecstatic half-second before release stretching into an unbearable infinity. Finally, the climax smote him down and he came deep in the angel’s divine heat, his whole body flooded with it, unable to restrain himself any longer: “Oh, g -- gah -- _God, oh God, oh God_ \--”

For a long moment afterward Crowley seriously thought the angel had struck him blind, but then he realized that he’d lost track of what his body was doing, and his eyes were squeezed shut. He looked up again, forgetting what that had done to him the last time, and groaned again because now it was even worse. Aziraphale’s clit stood forth, rosy and sweet, and Crowley was _literally_ going to die, not just discorporate but _die forever_ , if he couldn’t get that beautiful thing into his mouth _right this minute_. “Please,” he said, pulling uselessly against the hold on his wrists. “Let me suck you, angel, I can make you feel so good, I can -- please --”

“ _You can what?_ ” Aziraphale’s eyes still glowed, but they were soft enough now that Crowley could see the kind, amused lines around them again. He licked one finger and traced it over Crowley’s chest, back and forth between his nipples, circling each in turn with tingling warmth.

Crowley ran his tongue over his lips in a way he hoped was suggestive. “I can worship you. Like you deserve.” Aziraphale’s eyes slipped shut, his lips parting for a shaky breath, and Crowley felt the power balance between them shift precipitously: _gotcha_. “Please, let me glorify you, exalted one, divine spirit, let me venerate your most sssacred places.”

Aziraphale groaned, and then he was sliding up and off, and Crowley almost wanted to protest as his cock slipped free; not that he had the strength to go again right now, or possibly for the next month, but it’d been lovely and warm inside the angel’s body. But then Aziraphale was crawling up his body to straddle his head, and there -- _there_ \-- his beautiful soft vulva hovered over Crowley’s mouth, close enough that Crowley could feel its warmth.

“‘O Lord, open Thou my lips; and my mouth shall show forth Thy praise,’” Crowley intoned. Above him, Aziraphale wriggled and made a familiar sound, as of one taking great offense, but secretly delighted to do so. Then he lowered himself onto Crowley’s mouth, and Crowley set himself to worship in earnest. 

They hadn’t yet tried this particular setup, and he’d planned -- well, he hadn’t properly _planned_ anything this evening, as the results proved, but he’d fantasized about laying the angel down for his first experience of cunnilingus and tormenting him with a slow, deliberate exploration, flickering his thinnest serpentine tongue into every fold and crevice, until Aziraphale had passed from frustration to begging to wordless, despairing cries before Crowley took pity on him and let him come. That was worth keeping in his back pocket for later, but for now Crowley’s one thought was to make the angel lose control. Craning his neck up, he took Aziraphale’s clit into his mouth and pressed his human tongue flat against it, rubbing it firm and quick. Aziraphale gasped and bore down, rocking back and forth, his thighs warm and heavy against Crowley’s face. “Oh, Crowley, yes, give it to me,” he panted, sounding less like an ominous movie soundtrack and more like himself all the time. “So good, my darling, so -- ah, God, yes, just there --”

Crowley realized two things at that moment: one, that Aziraphale’s holy ground, so to speak, wasn’t nearly as consecrated as it had been, and two, that his hands were free. He made a muffled noise of long-delayed satisfaction, clamped both hands on Aziraphale’s gloriously abundant ass, and sucked for all he was worth. Those wonderful solid thighs squeezed and released, hard enough to hurt his head a little, but Crowley couldn’t possibly have minded less. He could feel Aziraphale losing himself in the rising waves of pleasure, but also coming back to himself, re-anchored in his human body by the force of his senses. The taste filling Crowley’s mouth was wholly human now, nothing of the divine, but more intoxicating than ever. And when Aziraphale came, shocked by the impact of it, helpless to do anything but let Crowley take him over the edge, he called the demon’s name with his human voice.

It lasted a long, long time; Crowley would back off for just a moment, sucking gently at Aziraphale’s clit until he relaxed a bit, and then lick with hard firm strokes until another peak hit. “Please, don’t stop, Crowley, please,” Aziraphale gasped when he could manage words, and Crowley definitely didn’t mind not being able to breathe as long as he could make the angel beg like that. Finally, Aziraphale gave a long, weak sigh and sort of collapsed off to the side, with one leg still lying on Crowley’s face and his soft belly still quivering a little with the aftershocks.

There was a long silence.

“So,” Crowley said.

“Erph.” Aziraphale rolled himself over onto his stomach and pushed his head into the pillow.

“You realize we should talk about what that was,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale made a series of noises into the pillow that Crowley readily translated as “I should think it was fairly obvious.”

“ _I_ think it’s fairly obvious, but then I thought it was obvious that you didn’t want to have sex with me until you jumped me in the back room.”

“I never did!” Aziraphale lifted his flushed, indignant face. “There was no _jumping_ involved. I’m hardly that athletic.”

“Figuratively, angel. But I’m serious.” Crowley reached out and petted Aziraphale’s sweaty hair, flattening the curls in a way that amused him and looked dreadful. “What _was_ that?”

“Oh, you know.” Aziraphale relaxed under the demon’s touch and laid his head back down. “I think the last per -- er, being -- to ever recognize me as a _good angel_ was, well, the Almighty. And I’m afraid I burned that bridge quite some time ago.”

“Mm,” Crowley said vaguely, because they were talking about feelings, but they weren’t talking about Crowley’s feelings, which were excessively complex on this as on other matters.

“I know you thought I was better than the others,” Aziraphale continued, “but honestly, that still meant I was -- not what I was supposed to be. If they were the standard, that is.”

“Present tense, angel,” Crowley said. “You _are_ better than the others. If that’s what angels are supposed to be, the whole system’s fucked and you know it.” He took a deep breath and braced himself for the pang of humiliation that always came with sincerity, for him. “You’re not really righteous in their way. But I’m pretty sure you’re righteous in, um, the right way? The real way, not the one that’s just, like, who can collect the most dead humans.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “You were right, I shouldn’t have asked you to say such things. I was just -- I don’t know --”

“Out of your head? Yeah, noticed.” Crowley rumpled up Aziraphale’s hair for the pleasure of petting it flat again. “But I did have to know what’s good all these years, to do the opposite, innit? I gave the humans knowledge of Good and Evil; be rubbish if I didn’t get it for myself.”

“I suppose so,” Aziraphale muttered into the pillow, looking at least half asleep.

Crowley snorted, but kindly, and slithered down under the covers. “Good talk, angel.” The time for talking about feelings was over, at least until Aziraphale suggested an experiment with light rope bondage and Crowley, on the brink of orgasm, had a meltdown about how Aziraphale lied to God’s face outside Eden and somehow _didn’t Fall_ \-- but that was a matter for next week.

**Author's Note:**

> Vielen dank to [Laura Shapiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurashapiro/) for making the beta process a downright hoot, and to [voidbat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidbat) for mutual screaming about headcanons.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at cumaeansibyl, come say hi!


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